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Venerable Ajahn Sucitto -
Touching the Meaning
From a talk given by Ajahn Sucitto at Cittaviveka,
January 1st 2000.
New Year's Day: It's been quite a full couple of days... and what about
tomorrow? Just notice: when one looks back, or looks forward; is it
pleasant? Enjoyable? Tiring? A bit much? Peaceful? Or what? What
particular perception does the mind log on to, and what does it make out
of that? Such as last night, when we placed those tiny wooden boats with
prayers on their sails into the pond: the lovely image of these
candlelit boats bobbing around on the black water. The delicate buoyancy
of those things -- they're fragile, and yet they represent a stability,
an ability to float, to be light among these huge elements of rain,
earth, and sky -- a very touching image. When there's something like
that, you can recollect it, use it as a treasure.
One of the opportunities in our lives is to be able to create particular
perceptions that have meaning in them -- not that meaning is a literal
truth. People get very one-dimensional on these things: 'Either it's
true, or it's not true!' So we could say: 'Well, it's just bits of wood
floating around on a muddy old pond in Sussex; so what?...' The mind can
work like that -- not realising that much of meaning is metaphorical,
rather than literal. The literal is only one, rather thin, take on
reality -- which doesn't take into account the mind of the observer, and
the nature of the actual experience. The literal truth is a half-truth
-- which excludes the moment of perception, the relational dynamic and
the resonance of things. It's sad that people can imagine this
eviscerated version of reality to be the bedrock of what reality is:
stripped of consciousness, stripped of perceptions, stripped of
resonance, stripped of meaning, stripped of anybody who's in it. It
becomes some bleak, external world in which nobody belongs, so we don't
experience light, flow, coolness, gathering, quiet, celebration,
festivity, aspiration, joy -- these things. When there's meaning we're
included in something, our living process participates and is involved.
Meaninglessness is when it's not involved, or when the sense of being
involved is hidden beneath a mind that's unwilling, blinkered, or shut
down in some way.
The fact of it is that actually we're always involved, only sometimes we
bring into such a situation a dismissiveness, or a fear of unknowing, or
uncertainties about our capacity. We stay with a blank reality; a
reality that is 'out there'-- mostly indifferent, and occasionally
hostile -- all flat surfaces and planes: 'But it's real (out there), and
I know where I am -- separate from it.'
Of course, the sense of participation -- of play -- is a risky thing
because it brings us to our feelings, and we don't really know what they
might be. It's an act of trust to allow oneself to really feel what one
is feeling, and to know that that is the 'meaning' of that reality right
now. But when we understand and are not frightened of meaning, then we
can make use of many different things; for example, myths or legends,
religious forms, rituals, idols, icons or mysteries... they make sense
to us, because they involve us, we feel the meaning. They bring out our
sense of awe, our joy, and we're part of something. It goes wrong if we
canonise such things, saying that they're true rather than meaningful,
that they're something that stands apart 'out there' rather than 'here'.
Puja and ceremonies are meaningful because we can allow ourselves to be
part of them. In that willingness to give oneself into something, to not
be embarrassed or intense about it, there is a wholeness of heart; we
may find ourselves touched in ways that are acute, and even mysterious.
It's not always that secure, but it is revealing. We begin to access the
core perceptions of our minds -- the joy, the fear, the love, the sense
of belonging, the sense of aloneness, the dark, the light -- and how
perceptions get assembled; how it is that people can be the loved, the
blessed, the company -- or THEM: the nuisance, the impingement, the
irritation! Both of those will stand up as truth; both of those can have
a meaning: a negative meaning or a positive meaning. But if we
acknowledge what occurs and realise that this is perception playing, we
don't have to be stuck in them, we don't have to externalise them as
facts.
Perception and feeling are what are called the citta-sankhara, or the
things that influence or determine the mind. What we take our mind to be
at any moment is determined by a perception: an image, a thought
fragment, a memory -- and the feeling tone that goes with it: pleasant,
unpleasant or neutral. Anything you focus your mind upon, as an object,
is a perception; it's a perceived thing, right? So if you think of
yesterday night, or of me, or of home, or of tomorrow -- a perception
comes up; and there's the feeling that goes with it: dynamically
pleasant, vaguely pleasant or sort of pleasant oscillating into
unpleasant with dashes of neutral in it! These two together determine
what we seem to be going through; what kind of a day we're having; what
our future or past is, and hence -- what we take ourselves to be. This
self-image is a conditioned thing, created by perception and feeling.
There are the various ways in which we navigate through all that,
involving a juggling of different perceptions; so these citta-sankhara
are also the measure of how the mind moves, in terms of perceptions and
feelings -- from this one to that one. What makes the mind move? It
moves because of an underlying volitional choosing, an intending
quality, or cetana. There's a seeking and a finding, and that activity
'personalises' or 'internalises' the experience: 'Now, there's something
in it for me.'
So what are the boundaries, the range, of that activity?... Its boundary
is called attention, manasikara: that is, where the mind lingers. In the
immediate moment of that lingering there is the contact impression,
which is where the perception and the feeling occur. The mind contacts
something and has a take on it; perception, feeling, intention,
attention and impression constitute 'naming' -- nama -- which is what
defines our presence in each moment of consciousness. However, the
Buddha said all this activity of consciousness is dependently arisen,
it's not an ultimate truth in itself.
This implies that we can have some flexibility; we can pick up or let go
of particular perceptions. We can know how to pick up meanings that lift
us up and how to relinquish meanings that bring us down. We can learn
how to understand the nature of these things, so that we are no longer
mesmerised by perceptions and feelings.
For example, with a concept like 'The Millennium' the whole world can
just go into a trance -- or we can make use of it. We can use it as a
time for determining to begin anew, say, to be good to one another --
rather than dismiss it as, 'just another day in samsara.' What's the
volitional quality that personalises, and makes a meaningful perception
out of the concept? We can ask: 'Is it eager, cynical or willing to find
a skilful meaning?' and, 'Is the internalisation of that experience
something that's worth keeping going?' Perception and intention will
reinforce each other. So the mind can create perceptions that
externalise as importance, urgency and utter necessity, when actually
they are only a result of the volition -- the energy of the mind's mood.
Maybe somebody's trying to do something good: 'I think I'll make some
nice food and offer it to the Sangha, to the nuns and monks. Oh, that'll
be good. Lovely!' and they think of what they'd like to offer:
shepherd's pie, pickled gherkins, truffles. That's their perception. But
then because they really want to do something nice, maybe the
internalisation takes over the situation; the offering has to be pickled
gherkins, shepherd's pie and truffles. Then: 'But where do I get
truffles in Petersfield!' and they get into a panic over it. Rather than
staying with the intention to do something good through generosity, the
mind has lost the meaning and externalised its internal perception to a
literal unchangeable fact. The participation, the play, is lost. So then
I say to them: 'Don't worry, it doesn't really matter...' 'Oh, it
doesn't really matter? This was my dana! What do you mean, my dana
doesn't really matter?' Or scenes can occur in the monastery kitchen
over people trying to make a nice offering to the Sangha: 'We don't want
dahl here, they hate dahl.' 'They don't hate dahl' 'Yes, they do hate
dahl!' Instead of staying with the participation in goodwill, the
meaning has been lost. Doesn't this happen quite a lot in our lives? How
many times have we tried to do lovely things, but then lost the attitude
of mind and become fixated on the Thing-That-Has-To-Be-Done -- and
missed the meaning? In a dependent reality we own our reality, not as
something 'out there' or as -- exclusively -- 'in here,' but as a
conditioned event that we're part of. So we need to consider: 'How are
we participating in that? What is our part in it?' This process really
illuminates things in us that may be uncomfortable, but that should be
acknowledged. When we're prepared to know about them, what we find is
that the thing we do know about them is that they're changing.
The Buddha said we should be mindful and fully aware of mind and
mind-states, internally and externally. For example, 'This is a
wonderful day' or, 'This is a horrible meal.' Those are mind states that
are external; they're saying it's something happening 'out there,' but
when you own them you realise: 'No, it's not a wonderful day -- it's a
day in which I feel wonderful!', 'It's not “my unpleasant body” -- it's
a body that I don't like.' If there is no mindfulness and full
awareness, then a mind state that expresses itself in terms of an
external reality automatically gives rise to a sense of a person, to
someone who's not responsible for that -- and yet can't separate from
it. This is confusing, and even dangerous. We're passive, cut off, in an
external world -- which includes even our own bodies.
The internal does very much the same. An internal mind says, 'I am. I am
happy, I am unhappy, I am bored, I am depressed, I am clear,' and
separates from a field of events; it solidifies an internal world, just
as the other articulates a solid, external world. And that solid,
internal world is just as frustrating as the solid, external world --
because the proper dynamic, the flow of meaning, is inaccessible.
Meaning is only true when there is a coming together, a participation.
This is why we should contemplate these things.
Contemplate the mind state when it expresses itself internally as: 'I
am' -- and when it expresses itself externally as: 'He is, she is, the
world is, the day is, my body is, the future is, everybody does...' --
all that. Contemplation means holding your attention on something, with
the intention of feeling the resonance, the meaning of it: 'This is
dread', 'this is joy', 'this is love;' then we're able to reflect on the
volitional quality of the wholesome or unwholesome effects that are
arising. When these wholesome or unwholesome effects create the
perception of, 'I am in “here”, and that is “out there”', this is called
the mundane reality; a mind-state with an attendant object is
established. When this is wholesome (I am happy, this is a lovely day,
etc.) that's called mundane wholesome; there are also mundane
unwholesome states. However, when any of these are attended to in full
awareness with the consideration: 'What is the mind state? What is the
perception? What's the feeling?' Then what's called the supramundane is
approached. When approached with the awareness (not just the phrase!):
'There is' -- 'There is joy', 'there is clarity', 'there is anxiety' --
this is supramundane; there is no seeking and finding that personalises
the experience, leaving a perceptual 'person' in there. In fact there
are no supramundane unwholesome states, because any unwholesome volition
makes it impossible to contemplate things in that way. If awareness is
motivated by greed, aversion, attachment or confusion, then it doesn't
enter the supramundane.
So there's a path being described here, isn't there? Any unwholesome
state will cease when held in full awareness as: 'There is...' At the
moment when one recognises with awareness (not memory) the fear or the
anger that's occurring, then that falls away. So when we feel fear,
hostility or whatever, rather than either: 'I am it' or 'It's that way
-- “out there”' just try to touch into: 'There is this.'
The key is the approach. Mind states are impermanent and ephemeral when
they are directly approached. If they're indirectly approached -- if we
think about them, worry about them, or celebrate them -- there is an
engagement, an activation, and an internalisation or externalisation. We
get into a long, sustained mood, because the mind has not been able to
see that state with right seeing. So maybe we feel: 'I'm depressed. I'm
always depressed. I was depressed yesterday; the world is meaningless --
it doesn't seem very impermanent to me!' Here the faculties of
mindfulness and full awareness have not been activated -- and the
faculties that keep solidifying the mood are continually re-engaged. So
it seems to be permanent, because it's re-activated moment after moment.
As I work with some of my habitual mind states (and they're the ones I
don't really like), I feel they help me know who I am, they give me a
home -- even if it's not a particularly nice home. They give this sense
of being, of self-definition -- an easy familiarity. It's certainly not
that they're pleasant, but they are the easy, default route, that I have
created strategies for. So it can be difficult even to recognise
behaviour patterns in an unbiased way because they help 'me' to be
'myself' -- separate from things. But if I can contemplate: 'This is the
mind internally' or, 'This is the mind externally,' it starts to free
up. When it is: 'This is the mind affected by fear' or, 'This is the
agitated mind,' and there's an easeful presence with that, then an
effective response can occur. The process becomes one of a participating
awareness in something that's more dynamic -- and more meaningful --
than a literal one-dimensional truth that some 'I am' is stuck with. So
if the way of focusing is a full giving of awareness, the mind brightens
up, the internal voices go quiet, and the re-creation can stop.
Notice, when a particular quality of mind state softens, recedes, goes
to stillness... the place it goes to is the same, whatever one has come
out of. It's the same place where we started from; there was no going
anywhere, no way of going on, really. There is a going on but, at an
another level, there's no going on. I find this wonderful because
sometimes I feel there are so many things going on, so many things to
do, and so many things on the back-burner that the back-burner is
brimming over; all these issues pending -- issues I don't -- urghh --
even want to touch into!... It's a lot. But then to get to the end of
the day, with the realisation: 'Oh, there's nothing going on!' Or:
'There was nothing “out there” going on.' It was just that nerve ending,
that nerve ending of volition; around that, arises 'me' and 'the world'.
Coming back to the 'nothing going on' challenges my self-definition,
because I can't really get a boundary around that one. I can't feel
myself as separate from things, and that's precarious. I can't have
clear plans as to what will be happening for me or what I'm going to do,
so I have to trust in mindfulness and full awareness. (Maybe that's why
there has to be so much going on!)
In meditation we can allow ourselves the time to follow the quality and
meaning of our lives in line with some of these teachings. We can focus
on the stream of mind as just that, whether it's a day, a memory, a
thought, an idea of oneself -- just as part of the stream of mind
states. Then, when we feel ourselves losing balance, we can review the
process of mind states: 'What is holding them?' It's not that they're
happening to somebody. That 'background identity' is the internalisation
that continually seeks and needs to have mental patterns, in order to
maintain its existence. This is where the challenge is, and the skill:
to be able to gently let go of an identity; to create the conditions of
mindfulness to see when one's identity stops. The sense of 'I am' or 'he
is' can unfold into openness. It's not that there's nothing there, it's
not a meaningless place -- it's a place of peace and warmth.
Forest Sangha Newsletter: January 2001, Number 56
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